Nyx
by Sarcastic Clapping
Summary: Nyx Blaine is a Muggle hipster who obsesses over Starbucks and anime references like crazy. The Weird Sister's "Flight of the Hippogriff" is her life theme song, and she wants nothing more then to be a Starkid actor. But, when an earthquake strikes, she's taken into another dimension where the Wizarding World is seriously real. MAURADERS ERA, RATED T FOR CUSSING! Remus/OC
1. Chapter 1

It was a pretty awesome day, you know, when I got sucked into the series.

Clouds clung to the gleaming, fiery sun that rested in the pale blue sky. My head was rested into Safta's lap as I stretched my legs out on the porch, and the fretful, little old lady was knitting a dark purple sweater.

"Back in Israel," She glared at two passing boys who were on their iPads, "we didn't have any of these fancy electronics. _Lo! _We spent our time outside, playing ball and hide-and-seek. Not any of _zees _electronics or birds that are angry!"

I made a cough to hide my snort. I loved my grandma so fucking much, but sometimes she made me want to go into a dark, silent room and scream my head off. She moved in about 4 years ago from Israel, her hometown (and the place where my dad was born), when I was about 11, to try to help my dad get out of his darkness, doom-and-gloom phase. My mom had left us a few months before, and for a while Dad couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything but sulk like an idiot all day long. As for me, I called him a coward and tried to track my mom down. No luck, though. It was like she was wiped off the face of the earth.

"And there you're off again, girl, daydreaming about some stupid boy who doesn't return your affections."

"Sirius Black _does _love me!" I pouted, and, scrambling off her lap, I smoothed out my shirt. It had a picture of a Chinese woman scolding a very photoshopped Neville Longbottom, with a small word bubble above her head that said, _**Y U NO MARRY LUNA LOVEGOOD, NEVILLE?**_

…I loved being a hipster. And that was only one advantage of it, anyways.

I mean, trendy black glasses were mainstream because people thought hipsters wore it, right? Well, the mainstream peeps took over and tried to control it. Like, Arthur Weasley over bathroom ducks.

"Who is _thees _Sirius Black? Is he your secret boyfriend?!"

"A girl can dream, _Safta, _a girl can dream." Then I walked back inside of the house and put my head against the cool glass sliding door. The days always seemed longer, the nights seemed too short, and I was in desperate need of an iced pumpkin Frappuccino from Starbucks.

And then something weird happened.

Not good-weird, like me, but bad-weird, like, OMFG-WHAT-THE-HELL-IS-HAPPENING!? The ground shook underneath my blue Converses, and I lunged away and onto the hard, wooden floor as the glass sliding door just as it broke into a thousand pieces. Oh, god- an earthquake? Right when I was about to force icy coffee down my throat? Life just wasn't fair.

Somewhere nearby, I could hear _Safta _cursing like a drunken sailor as she held for dear life onto her thread and needle.

For the first time since Mom left, I decided to pray. _Dear- oh, fuck, was that a vase?- God, I'm praying to you because I really don't want to die and I just want to get a Frap from Starbucks. Is that too much to ask?_

Apparently, it was.

A huge bookshelf right next to the sliding door stumbled, and I watched in horror as it slammed into my body. Then, darkness. Like my soul.

*****. . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .**

When I woke up, my head was pounding and my heart was throbbing. Or is it the other way around? I was too tired to care, and for now I had more pressing concerns: I was sucked into the Hangover, Harry-Potter style.

I was in a white cot in a hospital wing that scarily resembled the one from the films of _HP, _and blinding sunlight rushed out the windows. A woman- Madame Pomfrey, the fan-girl inside of me was able to squeal- was fussing over my wounds as she spilled some burning liquid onto my arm.

"Shit!" I said. Let's just say that subtlety isn't my middle name. On the contrary, it's my last-last-last-last-last-last name. And don't give me that crap that humans don't have last-last-last-last-last-last names. I'm not human. I'm a goddess in disguise, but Hera from the PJO series wiped my memories away in the Lethe and now I'm forced to wander Earth as a mere human.

The woman glared at me.

"No vulgar language, if you will!"

"Jeez, Pomfrey, I'm sorry. I'm a freaking teenager. It's my job to be moody and cynical. And a fan-girl. And a writer of numerous fan-fictions. I can't help it!"

The lady stared at me like I just spoke in Japanese. God, that's a hard language. Five years of Neon Genesis Evangelion and I still didn't understand what _chan _meant.

"You're not a Muggle, are you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. I squealed.

"O-M-FUCKING-G, you _ARE _real and not just a figment of my entirely too-huge imagination! FAN-GIRLS, UNITE!" I laughed, putting up my hand so she could slap it and we could go and cry over Severus Snape's death and make fun of Filch and all that good stuff.

She ignored me and put something that looked like a glass of water in my hands. At my questioning look, she said,

"It's a sleeping potion. For a dreamless sleep."

"What I _really _want is an iced Frappuccino from Starbucks, but that's good, too."

Last thing I heard was her saying, "Oh, there you are, Dumbledore! She's doing well, but she's demanding iced coffee from what I believe is a Muggle coffee-house called Starbucks and swearing like a deranged sailor."

**Hey, guys! I'm guessing you're wondering where all the randomness came from, ha-ha!  
Well, I've been looking through my old favorite stories and found the first fan-fiction I ever read, which was slightly similar to this. But I made sure it isn't copywright, since my character is a total hipster. And she isn't particularly pretty. Or bad-ass. **

**So, yeah, this chapter was pretty self-explanatory in my eyes. Hoped you like it, and please review!  
-Sarcastic Clapping, A.K.A. Queen Awesome of Epic Proportions, A.K.A. Lyricalyrics A.K.A. Potterhead Enthusiast, A.K.A. Proud RavenPuff (Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, study on your Potterhead facts, people!), A.K.A. Mayor of Wackspurts and Head Chief of S.P.E.W., A.K.A. pure brilliance reincarnated into one divine form, A.K.A. President of the Sirius Black Fan Club, A.K.A. The girl with a thousand names but usually known as the way someone puts their hands together repeatedly in a snarky way**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, fellow freaks of nature! **

**I hoped you liked the last chapter, though I can't be too sure because you guys hadn't reviewed. **_**Anyways, **_**here's your next chapter!  
***. . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .**

The next time I woke up, it was late afternoon and I was freaking dying out dehydration. Madame Pomfrey looked worried when I told her this, and she gave me a large glass of water.

Water is _so _mainstream.

But, since it was the only drinkable liquid I had, I drank it all in one large gulp, let out a soft "Ahhhh", and put it on the end table next to me. Then I turned back to Pomfrey.

"Are there any Starbucks around here? I mean, not _here-here, _but in Scotland? Or is that too American for them? See, this is why I joined the social justice club at school- everyone is freaking racist, or they're anti-semitic, or they're just being raped (being raped is also social justice too). Actually, rape culture is often found in Africa. Many girls are dying everyday there, or they're being married at age 12. And feminists. Yup, I'm a proud feminist and I hate how sexist everyone is. I mean, dude, we're not living in the '60s!"

She stared at me oddly. Only I don't know why. This is my usual way of speaking. Speed-wise, I meant. God, I felt like I was hyped up in sugar. And caffeine. And more sugar. And much more caffeine.

"Can I, um, get out of this bed now? It's freaking uncomfortable. And I need my coffee. Or, better yet, Butterbeer. Is there any Butterbeer around here? Huh, I don't really get how people came up with a drink that included 'butter', and 'beer', but, you know, whatever, I guess…"

Only did I realize I was speaking to the air, and Madame Pomfrey was gone. I suck at people skills. I guess I'm just too obscure for them. Or possibly they view me as a mental asylum patient. And I'm just wondering why people are so judgmental towards indies and hipsters such as myself, and if that could possibly viewed as a social justice, when our favorite gay Headmaster (That's also a social justice topic at school that I could bring up!), Albus-FUDGING-Dumbledore, shows up. His eyes are sparkly blue and his long white beard is so silky and smooth I just want to touch it all day long. But something seems unfamiliar about him. Maybe because his beard is only up to his ankles, but I'm _sure _something's off.

"Hello, miss…?"

"Nyx Blaine. At your service, Dumbledore!" I grinned probably the goofiest grin ever, and bowed down my head, letting a waterfall of auburn cut my view off. Brushing the red out of my face, I stare at Dumbledore like he's the king of the galaxies. In my mind he is, anyways.

Dumbledore gives me a brilliant smile back.

"Hello, Miss Blaine. It's very nice to meet such a well-informed Muggle such as yourself…?"

"Au contraire, Dumbledore, au contraire! I am _actually _a Muggle-born witch living in California, only my owl hasn't come. For, like, 4 years. _FOUR FREAKING YEARS. _Either it's never coming, or my owl's just lost somewhere in Bulgaria."

He actually laughs at that. Technically, it's a chuckle, but I'll take what I can get.

"You remind me of myself when I was your age, Miss Blaine. A rapid, quick-witted speaker such as yourself-"

"Don't forget that I'm also a hipster!" I chimed in. He smiled.

"I do not know the term of the word, Miss Blaine. Care to ex-"

"A hipster is men and woman who value independent thinking, counter-culture, and have a huge appreciation for indie pop-rock, creativity, wit, and clever speeches. They are individuals who shop at obscure places- such as thrift shops-; listen to obscure music/bands- such as Two Door Cinema Club- and bring up obscure topics that no-one has cared about until now, per say anime references. In general, hipsters don't follow mainstream topics or clothing- such as dresses or shoes from popular malls- and dislike, in general, the idea of mainstream music, such as One Direction or Christina Aguilera. Both hipster men and women wear similar androgynous hair styles that include combinations of messy shag cuts and asymmetric side-swept bangs. It is too edgy for a mainstream, insignificant consumer such as the average female or male who shops at Macy's. Hipster clothing included: faded jeans that are significantly older then the wearer, old-timey Converses that had faded over the years, tight-fitting jeans, and dark jackets sporting buttons for bands nobody has ever known about. They are usually very skinny, seeing as they are constantly refusing to eat or consume anything except for Starbucks coffee."

**(A/N: Fucking bollocks, that was hard! I mostly got my definition from the Urban Dictionary, but I also referred to what **_**my **_**idea of a hipster is. I'm a hipster, um, in case you haven't noticed…)**

I'd never thought I'd live the day to explain the idea of hipster-ism to Albus Dumbledore. He stared at me with his wide blue eyes, and I bit back a fan-girl squeal coming up from under my throat.

"Well… that clears things up. Thank you," He finally managed. I grinned.

"No problem, Dumbledore. Should I now launch into comparing/contrasting of indies and hipster? Well, indies are-"  
"That won't be a problem, Miss Blaine," He cut me off, and I sighed and leaned back into my pillows. Then my old question suddenly came back to me.

"Oh- hey! Can I meet Harry soon? I cannot _wait _until-"

"Harry? Harry who?" Dumbledore asked, furrowing his eyebrows. I stared at him. This had to be some kind of joke.

"Harry Freakin' Potter? Ring a bell?" Dumbledore looked genuinely confused.

"Do you mean _James _Potter?" He asked slowly. "There is no Harry Potter at this school. My dear, are you feeling alright?"

**GAAAHHH! God, what's happening to Nyx? What's happening to our young, hipster hero? We'll just have to find out in the next chapter, won't we (CUE EVIL LAUGH!)?**

**Okay, guys, but seriously, **_**PLEASE **_**review! I'm frankly dying to hear what you think. Well, actually, no, I'm not, but that doesn't matter, now does it?**

**-Sarcastic Clapping, A.K.A. Queen Awesome of Epic Proportions, A.K.A. Lyricalyrics A.K.A. Potterhead Enthusiast, A.K.A. Proud RavenPuff, A.K.A. Mayor of Wackspurts and Head Chief of S.P.E.W., A.K.A. pure brilliance reincarnated into one divine form, A.K.A. President of the Sirius Black Fan Club, A.K.A. The girl with a thousand names but usually known as the way someone puts their hands together repeatedly in a snarky way**


	3. Chapter 3

"I am _not _crazy! And James is dead- what the hell's going on?" I demanded. Dumbledore stared at me, eyes twinkling.

Twinkling blue eyes are _so _mainstream.

"My dear, who _are _you?" Dumbledore asked, truly agitated.

"I'm Nyx Blaine. I'm a hipster from freaking 2013, where everyone has a favorite Angry Bird and an Instagram. And I live in a world where the Wizarding World is just a freaking damned work of fiction. And also where we have Sirius Black wallpapers, just staring at you with those gorgeous eyes as you fall asleep into dreams beyond-"

Dumbledore looked truly amused as he listened to my ramble.

"Is that so?" He asked me. I'm starting to hate English people.

"You die in 6th book." I tell him. He chooses to ignore the comment.

"Would you like to get up?" He asks pleasantly. I'm close to kissing him when Madame Pomfrey's angry voice cuts through our conversation.

"She needs rest, she can't-"  
"Dude, I'm going to go crazy if I stay in this cot any longer. C'mon, pl-ee-ee-ee-ee-eese?!" I beg. She sighs and nods her consent.

*****. . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .*** . . .**

"Oh. My. Rowling," I gasp as we walk into the Great Hall. Four freaking long tables. One giant table for the staff in the front. Long windows letting light leak in. I swear, I mentally pissed my pants. Dumbledore smiled at my eagerness and took me to the front of the hall.

"Attention," He said in a calm but firm voice. People turned to gape at us, and I couldn't help but gawk like an idiot when I saw the Mauraders. Tears of joy leaked into my eyes, and I mouthed, _"I love you_" to Sirius. He was gorgeous like always, sitting next to his little friends and hitting on girls. They grow up so fast…

"We have a guest here, as you can see," He gestured to me, and I put my left hand up in a sheepish wave.

"Hey, freaks of nature! Just to let you know, I prefer HP to the Hunger Games any day!" I called out.

Silence. I half-expected a cricket chirp.

"And we are blessed to have her here today."

"My Rowling, Dumbledore, that means so much to me," I sniffed and wiped a tear from my cheek. And, if you must know, I wasn't mocking him in the least. I was actually overwhelmed by how emotional I was.

DAMN MY HORMONAL ANGST!

"She has come late into the year, because her Hogwarts letter has been stuck all the way in Canada for some time. I hope you all will treat her with respect and fairness."

"Social justice is a true gift," I nodded wisely. Dumbledore snapped his fingers and said, "_Accio Sorting Hat!" _

And then a leathery cloth flew up into his hands. I grinned.

"The Sorting system. Because a school establishing cliques doesn't cause any problems at all," was the last thing I said before he placed it on top of my head.

_Yo, Sorting Hat! _I greeted it inside my head.

_A Muggle? _It asked, shocked.

_Rowling, no. I'm a Potterhead, and frankly, I'm offended!  
_To my surprise, it/he let out a laugh.

_You are spirited. Brave, and witty, too. Intelligent trickster, aren't you?  
_I grinned. What can I say?

_You are a complete individual, _it/he told me. Tears burned my eyes at the words.

_Hey, can I be put into the House of Pancakes? _I suddenly asked.

_What is that? _It/he asked me.

_IHOP! _I yelled out inside my mind. The Sorting Hat winced mentally.

_You have a thing for being loud and wise-cracking, correct?_

_Yup!_

_The only two choices now are Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, but-_

_Ooh! Hufflepuff is so freaking awesome! Love those bitches! I mean, Gryffindor is SO mainstream! But, I REALLY freaking want to meet the Mauraders, so, I guess Gryffindor's cool-_

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Sorting Hat shouted, just as I yelled out mentally, _NOT! _

Cheers came from the Gryffindor table, and I sighed, forced on the most authentic smile I could muster, and walked to the table with an old sixties' walk that brought out loud laughter from the idiots clad in golden red. I know I shouldn't be too judgmental, but still…

And before I knew it, Lily Potter was in front of me. Her eyes were all wide and green, like anime, and her hair was a wavy red mass down her shoulders. Her creamy pale skin made me envious, and only then did I understand James Potter's obsession with her. In conclusion, she was about the most prettiest girl I'd ever seen who _didn't _cake herself with makeup. I couldn't help contrast her gorgeous red hair to my own long, auburn waterfall-straight hair. It couldn't compare at all to the soft texture of hers.

"Hi! I'm Lily Evans!"

"Hi, Lily Evans! I'm Angst taking on this atrocious mortal female form that feels like it's been hyped up on LSD!"

To my surprise, she laughed.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Angst," She joked, holding out her hand. I grinned and shook it with my own.

"I'm actually Nyx- Angst is only my middle name." I told her. She frowned in mock-sympathy.

"Don't worry; we'll get there," She assured me, giving up character and letting out a soft , breathy laugh. I liked her laugh. It reminded me of my mom's. Sirius Black leaned across the table and gave me a grin. My heart did back-flips in my chest.

"'Ello, Angst-called-Nyx-for-some-ironic-reason," He raised his hand in a half-wave, "I'm-"

"Joking White?" He smirked at that, but I saw confusion in his eyes as he took in my comment. Stupid, stalker-y Nyx, I scolded myself mentally. I _had _to get a firm grip on my mind if I didn't want my fellow House-mates to label me as an insane-asylum run-away patient.

"Close enough. I'm Sirius Black."

"Ironic."

"My life is ironic." He sighed, and I swear, I fell in love with him like 5,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 times. James Potter leaned back and tapped me on the shoulder, smirking a smirk that had my heart going.

"James Potter," I said before he could say anything. He arched an eyebrow at me.

"Are you a Seer?" He asked, grinning. I put on my best poker-face and nodded. He looked impressed.

" I'm Remus-"

"Lupin," I finished for the werewolf. He was actually kind of beautiful. Tiny little scars scattered around his tanned face, like each scar had a tiny little story to them. His eyes were a green color, and weariness surrounded the brown-ish edges. His brown hair was side-swept on his short forehead, and I actually thought he was maybe- just maybe- even more handsome then Sirius. He gave me a surprised smile.

"Nice to meet you, Nyx," He told me.

"I know," I told him, dead-pan. Lily and the Mauraders cracked up into laughter, and I bit back a smile as I turned to gulp down a goblet of pumpkin juice. Hey, it wasn't an iced Frap, but I'll take what I can get.

**Hey, guys! Hoped you liked this chapter (I know I did)!**

**Actually, I've been reading my one and only review from InkWeaverabc and she told me she didn't really read fan-fictions like this. Guys, I'm just telling you now, if you don't like it, **_**please **_**don't review. Okay?**

**-Sarcastic Clapping, A.K.A. Queen Awesome of Epic Proportions, A.K.A. Lyricalyrics A.K.A. Potterhead Enthusiast, A.K.A. Proud RavenPuff (Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, study on your Potterhead facts, people!), A.K.A. Mayor of Wackspurts and Head Chief of S.P.E.W., A.K.A. pure brilliance reincarnated into one divine form, A.K.A. President of the Sirius Black Fan Club, A.K.A. The girl with a thousand names but usually known as the way someone puts their hands together repeatedly in a snarky way**


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